


shoulders

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [11]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, He's got PTSD and is fucked up, Light Angst, More people should worry about Tony, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker worries about Tony too, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, but he is pretty selfless, i took some stuff from the Endgame trailer, it's all gonna be fake after Endgame but whatevs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: “She’s smart,” Peter takes a breath.  “Someone else smart once told me that sometimes after a bad dream, you feel better if you tell someone about it…”Mr. Stark huffs.  “I’ll accept you trying to make me feel better if I have to, but I draw the line at you being my psychiatrist.  That is a burden you will not shoulder.”“Mr. Stark,” Peter’s not stupid, he knows Mr. Stark doesn’t want to talk about it, because he never wants to talk about his nightmares either, but he knows he always feels better when he does.  And he knows he only does when Mr. Stark or May refuse to leave until he starts talking.  “‘When you talk about it, it’s less real,’ or something like that.”“Why do you only remember what I say when you can use it against me?”“Because I’m a teenager,” Peter leans into him a little.





	shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> Tony has unhealthy coping mechanisms. For better or for worse, Peter is not okay with that, and he has long been pushing his luck with Mr. Stark. It usually works out.
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

Peter receives the text just as he’s walking out of school with Ned, MJ trailing them with her head buried in a book.

TheQueen: _Just a warning, Pete, he had a bad night and now he’s having a bad day._

Uh oh. _Nightmare?_

TheQueen: _Amongst other things._

TheQueen: _Maybe you shouldn’t go patrolling today._

Peter hears the warning under Pepper’s texts. _I can’t trust him to pay attention like he should. It’s not safe for you to go out without back-up_. The subtle message stings, a little; he’s been being careful, especially since his foray into hibernation, and hasn’t had to call Mr. Stark for back-up since before Thanksgiving. He was fine when they were gone for two weeks on their honeymoon.

Peter stops at the top of the stone steps, and MJ snarls when she walks straight into his back, dropping her book.

“What?” Ned stops beside him, peering over his shoulder at his phone.

“Just Pepper.”

“Is your chauffeur not coming?” MJ snarks as she bends over to pick up her book, but as soon as she straightens she looks over his other shoulder.

“No, he wasn’t coming anyway. I was...going to go out before going to the Tower.”

May’s hours are still crazy at the hospital, and everyone--except Peter--had agreed that he would spend nights she wasn’t at the apartment at the Tower, at least until spring. Their small home didn’t safely have space for the sunlights, and even Dr. Banner was concerned Peter might inadvertently fall into a nap in a precarious position. May even had her own room in the Tower, and was spending more time there than at home. Peter finds the whole thing ridiculous, even if he loves the Tower. It’s principle. They should just move there if everyone is going to act like this. Even Mr. Barnes sounded concerned when he learned about it. Only Loki had the decency to find it funny.

 _Ok._ He hastily texts back. _I’ll stay at home, tonight. Tell Mr. Stark I hope he feels better._

TheQueen: _Oh, no. I think that’ll be worse._

TheQueen: _Happy should be there in about five minutes._

_It’s fine, Pepper. May should be home by eleven._

“Are you really choosing _not_ to go spend the night at Tony Stark’s tower?” Ned is incredulous as he reads the texts.

“Yeah, you know I’m loathe to admit it, but I have to agree with Loser Number Two, here.”

“‘Number Two?’”

“Fine, you can be Number One,” MJ rolls her eyes, shifting her bag to her other shoulders. “And I thought you weren’t supposed to be alone, like, ever, until the sun comes back out?”

“You guys could come with me...I mean, it is Friday.”

“I can’t, my grandmother is coming and making _sarsiado_ ,” Ned sighs behind him, as if a family dinner night is the most daunting inconvenience in the world.

“And as much as I adore your company--” she sounds sarcastic but Peter suspects that’s a front, if everyone’s teasing if anything to go by “--I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility,” MJ shrugs. “I let my cactus die.”

“How do you _let_ a cactus die?” Ned wonders, just as Peter’s phone pings again. 

TheQueen: _Oh, no. Your aunt thinks you're coming here, and someone would just have to get you tomorrow anyway. And like I said, I don’t think it would help anybody if you didn’t come._

TheQueen: _But just be aware, when you get here. I’ll be in the office until about 4:30._

 _Ok._ Peter hits send and pockets his phone just as the sleek black Audi peels into the lot. Apparently the students at Midtown have not gotten used to the sight, because right on cue, everyone in the crowd around them stops and stares.

“Well,” Peter sighs and turns to his friends. “I’ll text you guys tomorrow. Maybe you can come over for a movie or some Switch.”

“Oh no,” MJ adjusts her shoulder bag again and starts down the steps. “I’m not going there if His Majesty is in a _mood._ I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend, Loser Number One and Loser Number Two.”

Ned shrugs and turns back to Peter. “I’ll come, if Grandma doesn’t want me to stay. Sometimes she wants us all to help her make cassava cake.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ned,” Peter heads down the steps. “I’ll see you Monday.” He turns to the right when they reach the bottom, heading towards the Audi that will start honking loudly if he doesn’t get to it in thirty seconds. 

“No, text me Peter!” Ned calls. “The tower any day is better than a small, hot kitchen!”

“Ok, Ned!” Peter calls behind him, head held high as he walks towards the Audi. He knows Flash is probably in the crowd somewhere, seething a bit, even if he’s not quite as cruel as he used to be. 

As soon as he slides in the backseat, Happy turns to look at him and tosses a bar of something over the seat. “I’m on strict orders. Eat.”

Peter catches the high-calorie energy bar. “You know, these aren’t very good.”

“As soon as it’s spring, you can graduate back to fruit snacks,” Happy throws the car in gear and they peel out of the parking lot. 

“Great,” Peter unwraps the bar and takes a bite, successfully fighting the gag. It’s supposed to be chocolate peanut butter, but tastes like eating a mouthful of Crisco. They drive in silence until they reach Park Avenue, when Happy glances behind him. 

“Pepper texted you?”

“Yeah,” Peter sits up straight and leans forward, the wrapped still crumpled in his fist. “Is everything okay?”

“He’s in a mood...he gets in them, always has. Don’t take this the wrong way, and don’t tell anybody I said anything, but I’d make yourself scarce, at least until Pepper gets back.”

“You know, I could have gone home,” Peter feels a bit of irritation. He doesn’t need to be here, if it’s going to be a problem.

“No, no, no. It’s not that he doesn’t want you here, he just doesn’t want _anyone_ here, right now,” Happy waves a hand. “He’s probably counting down the minutes until he hears FRIDAY announce you’ve arrived. And good choice on not going out patrolling.”

“Pepper told me not to. And that doesn’t make any sense, Happy.”

“When does Tony make sense? I know you’re a clingy, needy little shit, but just let him come to you. He will, eventually.”

“What if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen--HEY!” Happy leans on the horn as someone cuts in front of him. “Jesus Christ. Anyway, he’s not the way he was. No more Birthday Party Duels. He’ll be fine.”

“But what if he’s not?” Peter’s read stories of the “Duel” with Mr. Rhodes, back after the Stark Expo. He’d absorbed every bit of new piece of information on Tony Stark after he’d saved him from the Hammer Drones. He had to do it in secret, on the computer when Ben or May were busy, as they would have quickly shut down any screens open to tabloids. But he remembers it.

“He is, kid. And he wouldn’t want you to worry about it. So just stay away from the lab and enjoy the run of the place.”

“Have you tried talking to him today?”

“Oh, no,” Happy looks at him through the rear-view mirror as he pulls into the underground garage. “I don’t go down there when he’s like this. Pepper and Rhodey, that’s it. It’s been like that for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Well, I have to go down there. My physics book is there, and I have homework due Monday.”

“Wait until tomorrow to get it.”

“Hrmph,” Peter huffs, crossing his arms as the car pulls into a spot, right next to the Toyota Mr. Stark had been using to teach him to drive. They were supposed to go, tomorrow. Mr. Stark thinks he’ll be able to schedule his test, soon, as soon as he’s finished with his actual Driver’s Ed course. _Spider-man’s gotta be able to drive after 9pm. And if I’m paying for your insurance, you better get the course discount._

“Seriously, Pete. He’ll snap at you without meaning it and then he’ll feel bad and that’ll make everything worse. It’s not that he doesn’t want you around, he doesn’t want you to take the brunt of anything. Let him wallow for a bit.”

“Happy--”

“Really,” Happy unclicks the child-locks and Peter rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to save everyone some trouble here, and don’t want your soft little heart to be broken. Just go and do your homework and play Fortnight or whatever you do.”

“I don’t play Fortnight, Happy.”

“Whatever,” Happy points in his direction. “And don’t tell anyone I said anything. He’ll be fine.”

“Alright, Happy,” Peter shuts the door and heads towards the door to the elevators. He has a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach now, after Happy’s warning. It doesn’t seem right to him that Mr. Stark should be leave alone to brood in a dark place, and especially since he knows _he_ wouldn’t be allowed to, by any of the adults in his life.

It feels, awful, actually. Peter knows how difficult it is to carry things alone.

“Welcome back, Peter,” FRIDAY’s voice echoes through the elevator once Peter has swiped his (very unique) badge. “Mrs. Boss told me to tell you there are leftovers in the refrigerator and to not touch the stew in the crock-pot, and to remind you to turn a light on in whichever room you are in.”

“Thanks, FRI,” Peter leans against the wall as the elevator shoots up. It reaches the penthouse before Peter even has time to form a coherent thought. “Where’s Mr. Stark?”

“He is in his lab. I’ve alerted him that you’ve arrived, but he is requesting to be left undisturbed.”

Peter slings his backpack over the back of one of the barstools at the kitchen island. “Is he alright?” He plays dumb.

“Boss is working on something at his desk. He has asked to be left to his work. Mrs. Boss will be home at approximately 4:30.”

“Thanks FRI,” Peter heads to one of the cabinets and pulls a plate down. He opens the fridge; sure enough there are several Tupperware containers of leftover lasagna, next to a white pastry box with a sticky-note that reads “DO NOT TOUCH I MEAN YOU TONY.” He knows Pepper will let him have some of whatever it is after dinner. He grabs a container.

Peter sighs when he sets the container on the counter, feeling awful about heating up leftover lasagna if Mr. Stark is alone in his lab feeling horrible. He’s seen him, if not at his worst, at his very-not-great, and while he’s still a bit hesitant about whether or not it’s his place (even after everything), he wants to at least try to make Mr. Stark feel better.

It can’t hurt to try, right? 

“Spider-man helps the little guy,” Peter murmurs to himself, reclosing the Tupperware container. “Everyone is the little guy, sometimes. FRIDAY?” Peter looks up to the ceiling. “Can I get into the lab?”

“The security systems around Boss’ lab have not been changed, Peter. In the event of an emergency, everyone with previously granted access would be able to get in.”

“Good!” Peter darts out of the kitchen. “I have an emergency: I left my physics book down there and I have homework!” He’s down the stairs off the back hallway to the door before FRIDAY can answer him, and part of him wonders if she has the logical foresight to not bother.

He sees Mr. Stark through the glass, hunched over something at his oversized desk. Ok, it doesn’t look too bad. Peter also sees his physics book, sitting at his small workstation. He has a cover at least.

Peter presses his hand against the panel, internally smiling as the number pad for his keycode pops up on the screen. The door beeps and slides open when he punches it in, but he’s not more than three steps inside, without Mr. Stark even looking up, when he wonders if maybe this is a bad idea. A very bad idea. It hits him that even Happy, who downright enjoys watching him squirm, warned him. _Shit._

“Um, hey-hey, Mr. Stark. I-I just left my physics book down here, and you know, I have homework for Monday…”

Mr. Stark just sighs and waves his hand dismissively in the direction of Peter’s workstation. 

“T-thanks,” Peter rushes over to his desk. “I’ll--”

“Weren’t you supposed to go out patrolling?” Mr. Stark still doesn’t look at him. He goes back to twisting his screwdriver into something.

“Um, I decided not to,” Peter turns to look at him and leans against the edge of the desk. He doesn’t say that Pepper advised him it wouldn’t be the smartest.

“Why? You keeping something from us again?” His voice is harsher than Peter is used to, reminiscent of when he’d first reluctantly taken him under his wing, and obviously skeptical that Peter just decided not to go out. Which Peter supposes he should be, after all.

“No,” Peter’s mind flashes back to the lecture he received a few weeks ago, from just about every adult he knew, that if something was _off,_ he had to not only tell them but be very specific about it. “I feel fine. Those lights were a really good idea, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark just shrugs and scoffs. “Bruce’s idea.”

“Yeah, but like, who would have those kinds of things laying around? I mean--”

“Peter,” Mr. Stark interrupts him, not looking up from whatever he’s screwing. “Why didn’t you go patrolling.”

“I just--just,” Peter squares his shoulders, even though he’s not looking at him. “I didn’t think it was a good idea, today.”

“Pepper snitched on me to a goddamn teenager,” he shakes his head and murmurs under his breath, still not looking up. Peter cringes. Of course he knows what he’s doing. “Go upstairs and sit under one of the lamps. You can’t do your little random nap-act again.”

Peter is stung, a little, and remembers what Happy told him. _It’s not that he doesn’t want you around, he doesn’t want you to take the brunt of anything._ “Ok. Do you want me to bring you a snack or something?”

“Kid--” Mr. Stark starts, but is interrupted by a loud *crack* from whatever is in his hand. “FUCK!” He yells, and Peter jumps when he downright spikes whatever he was working on against the desk. It skitters across the glass top and clatters to the floor, taking a wrench with it, the sound echoing through the lab.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter watches as he drops his head into his hands and takes a shuddering breath. He slowly walks over to the desk, bending to pick the object up. It’s an old web-shooter, one of his original, self-designed ones, that he brought to the lab years ago. He didn’t even know Mr. Stark kept them. He sets it gently on the desk, and reaches out to lay a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, it’s just an old web-shooter. It’s kind of a piece of crap, actually.”

Mr. Stark shakes his hand off and stands-up, stalking over to the worn leather couch Peter has fallen asleep on more times than he can count. “No, it’s not,” he snaps, and Peter doesn’t know which thing he’s disagreeing with. 

“Sure it is. It weighs like a pound,” Peter tries to laugh as Mr. Stark flops onto the couch. He’s told Peter before he’s a stubborn little shit and he feels like he has to live up to that description right now. Mr. Stark is talking to him, that’s sure more than Happy told him to expect. And he’s not going to let him stew in bad feelings, reassurances or not. Not on Spider-man’s watch. 

“Peter,” Mr. Stark looks at him, almost pleadingly. “I’m fine. Go upstairs. Please. I’ll be up in a while.”

“Now I think you’re the one who’s keeping,” Peter walks over to the couch and looks down at his tired, obviously hurting mentor.

“Pete, you know this lab is as much yours as it is mine, but I can’t do the sparring thing right now. I had a shitty night and I just want to be alone.”

“Why? Was it a nightmare?” Peter sits on the couch. He knows he’s pushing his luck, but it’s what he does best. In for a penny, in for a pound, or something. Ben used to say that.

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“But I do worry about it. I’m Spider-man. I worry about everybody,” Peter reaches out again, taking his wrist and twisting it up examine the metal watchband there. “You have a call button, too. I’m not expecting the nitty-gritty details, but if I can help, I want to help.”

“I know you do, Peter. But it was a dream, and you can’t. No one can.” 

“Well,” Peter lets go of his wrist. Admitting it was a nightmare is progress. “Aside from me going upstairs--which I’ll do!--is there anything I can do first to make you feel better?” May always did this with him when he wanted to sulk: respected his wishes, but offered something small first. It always made him feel better, even if it was a still bit before he opened his room door again.

“Goddammit, kid,” Mr. Stark slouches over to rest his elbows on his knees and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You shouldn’t have to do this. You don’t _need_ to do this. To worry about an angry, fucked up old man.”

“I know, Mr. Stark,” Peter sidles closer on the worn leather couch. “But I want to. I mean, you don’t have to do a lot of the things you do for me, but you still do.”

“Jesus, of course I do, Peter.”

“No, you don’t, Mr. Stark,” Peter shrugs. “I mean, I’m just some random, stupid kid you found on YouTube. And then, you know, that whole ferry thing--” they both prefer not to talk about that incident “--any smart person would have just burned everything…”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“...but I know you kept everything. And then, after, _you know_ , you figured it out. And, you know, that recording, and the watch, and the stupid lightbulbs I hate,” Peter looks down at his lap. He can feel his voice getting strained as he speaks. “And you kept my stupid old web-shooters. You take care of me, Mr. Stark. I can help you sometimes, too.”

“Goddammit, kid. You are too good,” Mr. Stark buries his head in his hands. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, I do. But you’re the kid, and I don’t expect anything from all that. You spend so much of yourself on everyone else. I wish you would be more selfish, Peter.”

“I _am_ being selfish, Mr. Stark,” Peter states, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. “And every word of that could be applied to you, too.”

Mr. Stark scoffs. “You’re biased.”

“Probably. But for good reason, Mr. Stark.”

“Jesus,” Mr. Stark sniffs and scrubs his hands down his face. “I don’t deserve you, kid.”

“I don’t know if it’s about deserving, Mr. Stark. Who would _deserve_ anyone?”

“Pep said that once.”

“She’s smart,” Peter takes a breath. “Someone else smart once told me that sometimes after a bad dream, you feel better if you tell someone about it…”

Mr. Stark huffs. “I’ll accept you trying to make me feel better if I have to, but I draw the line at you being my psychiatrist. _That_ is a burden you will not shoulder.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter’s not stupid, he knows Mr. Stark doesn’t want to talk about it, because he never wants to talk about his nightmares either, but he knows he always feels better when he does. And he knows he only does when Mr. Stark or May refuse to leave until he starts talking. “‘When you talk about it, it’s less real,’ or something like that.”

“Why do you only remember what I say when you can use it against me?”

“Because I’m a teenager,” Peter leans into him a little. 

“Well, it was very real, and that’s the problem.”

Peter hums a bit. “...Afghanistan? New York?” he hedges, quietly, hoping he isn’t about to trigger a different breakdown.

“Neither, kiddo.”

“Titan?” Peter knows he still has nightmares about that, although they’re becoming more infrequent, and when they do happen, he’s much better at recognizing the feeling in his arms and legs.

“No,” Mr. Stark runs a hand through his hair, and sighs, resigned. “After Titan. When we got off. And it was just, empty. There was nothing, that went on forever.”

“Oh.”

“And I didn’t even care. The water ran out and the air was going to run out, and it was like, ‘yeah, ok.’ I recorded a message for Pepper, that honestly I never thought she’d find if she’d even survived, and I was just done. And I know it’s certainly not what you went through--”

“I knew you would get us out, Mr. Stark…” Peter interrupts, because he did, with all his heart, even when he was alone and scared and trapped in a hazy world with shades for four years after having every molecule of his body ripped apart one by one. He knew it.

“I know, Peter. And that makes it worse. Because I didn’t. You weren’t in a different realm, you were _dead_. So many people were dead. And I was done,” Mr. Stark exhales hard and stares at the floor. “And, when I was there, I was glad you were gone. Because you...I couldn’t have done anything, and I would have had to watch that, and...and, God, I still hate myself for it. And then sometimes I would think I heard you, or Pepper, or Rhodey,” he shakes his head and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He takes a shuddering breath and Peter suddenly feels very guilty, the exact kind of guilt Mr. Stark is feeling right now, the kind he consistently has to remind him _not_ to feel. “And all I could think was that at least you weren’t there, floating through nowhere, suffocating. That’s all I cared about.”

“Maybe I could have helped, if..” Peter reaches out, laying his hand lightly on Mr. Stark’s back. When he doesn’t start or shake him off, Peter lets himself stick, his palm and fingertips adhering through the worn t-shirt.

“No, no,” he clears his throat, letting his hands drop between his knees. “There was nothing to be done. In fact, you’d have been another set of lungs. And whoever found us may not have found us in time. And with your metabolism--no. I’ll always hate myself for it, but knowing what happened, I’m glad. When I realized maybe we could actually fix this, I was glad. Because then you might have been gone for real.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what to say to something like that. Mr. Stark lifts his head and stares off towards his desk. Peter’s eyes follow and he sees the small framed photo he gave him for Christmas. Pepper got one too, for her corporate office: a silver frame and photo of the three of them at the wedding. Mr. Stark is leaning too heavily on his left side after surgery, and Peter is flushed from _far_ too much snuck champagne from Happy and Rhodey that he knows May turned a blind eye to (the buzz didn’t last long, at all). Pepper of course looks radiant. Mr. Stark had sniffed like he always did, and then promised that as soon as he could make it down the stairs to the lab without keeling over it was going smack-dab in the middle of his desk.

“I still don’t remember exactly what happened, and Neb won’t tell me,” he breaks into Peter’s thoughts. 

“Has she called at all?” Peter likes Nebula, the way she always scoffed and frowned at him, but never actually dismissed him. He liked the way she made sure to step in the way of anybody who approached him while waiting to get back, knowing there was still danger and that Peter making it back to Earth was paramount, when Mr. Stark was too tired to do it himself. He knows she’s off somewhere now with Ms. Danvers, saving other worlds that need them more than Earth does right now.

“No, you know she’s not one for chit-chat. But maybe I’ll send her a message. See how that new arm is doing,” Mr. Stark smiles slightly. Peter knows he grew close to Nebula, and that she was absolutely crucial in not only Mr. Stark’s survival, but their overall success. But that’s pretty much all he knows, and Mr. Stark has always been clear that he won’t share most of the darker things that happened in the time he was away, at least not until Peter is much older. 

“You know, I didn’t have food, either,” Peter tries to joke after a few minutes of silence, the only sound the whirring from Mr. Stark’s housing unit and DUM-E’s occasional beep from the far corner.

“Were you hungry?”

“No,” Peter toes his sneakers off and pulls his legs up on the couch. “But, like, I thought about food a lot. There wasn’t exactly much to do, aside from keeping everyone from wandering off somewhere.”

“You’re always thinking about food,” Mr. Stark sniffs and sits back, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder. He can tell he’s relieved to have the subject changed. “Speaking of, when was the last time you ate?”

“Um…”

“Ok, Pete, you know the drill. Every two hours,” he turns to look sharply at him. Peter knows he’s trying to look stern, but he just looks tired, and old, his eyes dark and red-rimmed. He feels a flash of guilt; he _likes_ eating, and it’s something easy to do that would relieve Mr. Stark’s worrying, at least a little bit.

“Sorry. I had a granola bar in the car with Happy.”

“Hardly sufficient,” Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulder. “Go on and get something to eat. That’s how you can help me feel better, right now.”

“Ok, Mr. Stark,” Peter removes his hand from Mr. Stark’s back, reluctantly pushing himself off the couch. “Are you coming?”

“No,” he gives him an affectionate little push as he stands. “I’m gonna stay down here and sulk for a bit longer.”

“Do you mind if I bring the rest of my homework down?”

“Seriously? It’s Friday, kid.”

“Yeah, but I like getting it done early,” Peter shrugs. “Work now, play later.”

“Fine. So long as you’re quiet. Sulking requires absolute silence, and as soon as Pepper comes down here I won’t get that.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark,” Peter turns to head for the door. He hears it in Mr. Stark’s snarky response: _Yes, please stay. You’re one of the people I don’t mind around when I want to be alone._

“Bring me a sandwich.”

“Who said I’m making sandwiches?” Peter stops at the glass door in front of the stairs. “Pepper said there were leftovers in the fridge.”

“I’m lasagna’d out,” Mr. Stark closes his eyes and leans back into the couch. “You want to come back down here? Sandwich. Tuna on wheat with tomato.”

“That’s gross, Mr. Stark.”

“No grosser than pickles. Hop to it, Mr. Parker,” Mr. Stark waves dismissively from the couch.

Peter smiles; it’s okay, because he’s allowed back down there, even if it’s just to sit quietly.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "I just thought about you on the way..."
> 
> It may not be the healthiest, but don't tell me that Peter doesn't worry about Tony as much as Tony worries about him.
> 
> On that note, PICK YOUR BATTLES SAFELY, EVERYONE. This is IronDad fanfic, not real life. Sometimes it's best to leave people alone. Assess the situation, and go from there. Peter knows he'd be one of the people Tony let in the lab.


End file.
